As some of you may or may not know, the title of this post is also the title of Toronto indie-rock band Femme Generation's debut album — this, however, was not chosen as a testament to the quality of the album itself (I think it's catchy with a few bright spots, but Liars and Pretty Girls Make Graves do it better) but rather for its message of togetherness. Like it or not, this may be the last opportunity this season that we Oil fans in Toronto have to convene — or at least, it's certainly the last chance for me, as I'm scheduled to work on Monday night JUST IN CASE SOMETHING AMAZING HAPPENS BUT I'M NOT SAYING IT WILL KNOCK ON WOOD.

So let's do this. Second floor of Paupers Pub tonight, on the corner of Bloor and Lippincott (one block east of Bathurst). If you ever wanted to meet some of the faces behind the names that you argue with every day, this is your chance, and I want to see that place packed to its faded-'70s-decadance brim with yelling, cheering, drunken blog nerds. You know what I look like. If you make it out, tap me on the shoulder and say hello.

It feels like there's nothing I can say about this game tonight. The good news is that the Oilers powerplay has improved, Cam Ward looks human and Doug Weight is doubtful. The bad news is that the Canes powerplay continues to manhandle us, and with Devorski and Magoo having sworn a blood oath to call every single little bit of incidental contact in the defending zone and together leech all the life and fun out of the game, this may prove to be the death of the Oilers and the series.

Ah, but who knows what the death of the Oilers will be anymore. I was prepared for the end on Thursday, only to be yanked so gloriously back from the brink of despair by these men who refuse to die. Now all I have is the calming clarity of a man who has accepted his own death and yet continues to live. It's reassuring, but I figure it'll only last until the first retarded penalty gets me screaming for blood again.

There's life yet in this incredible Oilers team. This storyline is too good to end now.

I'll be with you in spirit, buddy. But in another, more accurate way, I'll be six rows behind the penalty box. No, I'm not kidding. I'm just the luckiest jerk around. I'll be the guy getting escorted out after I peg the ref in the bean with a beer. GOILERS!

I'm in fucking Stettler! Fuck! Not only that, I can't even watch the game at the local BP's cause I have to work for my parents at their burger joint tonight. I'm going to be FLIPPING FUCKING BURGERS INSTEAD OF GAME-WATCHING!

Shit! Sometimes I get so worked up writing the post that I completely forget to take care of all the attribution and have to go back and add it in after the fact. Obviously, that didn't happen. My apologies, Jennie, and awesome photo. It made me miss Edmonton tremendously.